


The Lovers

by petercapaldiscoiffure



Series: Emeline Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petercapaldiscoiffure/pseuds/petercapaldiscoiffure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What they do doesn't have a place for anything so soft and sweet, and they like it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovers

Those first few months, it's an arrangement. Emeline sends him a look, after they're back from closing rifts or fighting templars, perhaps, or maybe over a raucous makeshift dinner in the tavern. She leaves, he follows. Outside of her room and his, they're friends, comrades - inside, they're something else entirely. But they're not lovers - what they do doesn't have a place for anything so soft and sweet, in feeling or deed, and they like it that way. 

And it's good. She's no blushing virgin but she's - well, she's not him, either. She thinks it's better this way - it's a learning experience, this thing they've got going, and she's grateful there's no complicated feelings to muddy the waters. She has no misplaced infatuation urging her to please him at her own expense, and every incentive to be selfish.

And she does learn things, learns to pinpoint what she likes and what she doesn't.  They discover that pain is fine - no, pain is  _good_. Leather is better than rope, with it's itchy burn, but after a fight the sting of skin on skin is better than both.  They find that words, harsh or gentle, will make her melt, and a sharp, quick squeeze of her slender throat will push her over the edge. Blindfolds will panic her, ice will make her cringe.  The one time he gets near her feet she almost kicks him in the face - out of reflex, she swears, mortified while  _he_  can hardly stop laughing.

He's by far the most attentive partner she's ever had, that can't even be contested.  For all his bluster about knowing what she needs, he never pushes - no, he watches, anticipating, noting, changing course. With every gasp and groan and sharp  _katoh_ , he's mapping the landscape of her desire as surely as she.  And she  _trusts_  him. They've never exchanged sweet nothings, he's never pressed flowers into her hands and they've never giggled furtively under the suspicious gaze of the templars, drunk on their own daring, but she finds she trusts him more completely than anyone she's ever been with.   

So maybe, those months later when he begins to stay behind after, and they share cold sausages and cheeses from the kitchens and talk about nothing at all until sleep finds them in tangles of blankets and limbs - maybe she isn't as surprised as she might be.  And maybe, when the sun rises and she wakes in his arms, she realizes that the tumble from friends to lovers needn't always be so soft and gentle - and that's alright with her.  

 


End file.
